VY Canis Majoris
by VYCanis
Summary: The year is 3074. Interstellar travel, genetic experimentation, and all manner of futuristic developments in technology are abound. With any luck, the travesties and atrocities bestowed unto the poor souls struggling to survive in the world of the future will sort themselves out, even if Anna and Elsa bring everything to the verge of self-destruction with their respective passions.
1. The Beginning, and The End

Being a governor's daughter was far from easy.

Being the daughter of one of the Intergalactic Space Administration's governing council members was anything but easy.

But being in love with her sister was really fucking hard.

It had started slowly enough. Anna had known her sister since the day she'd been born, had clung to her blonde relative from her first ungraceful days as a mewling, puking infant, seeming to find solace only in her touch. Her parents assumed it was natural, that the bond they shared so early in their lives was important and should be nourished.

Growing into a toddler and learning to ride her first hoverbike would have been impossible without a helping hand.

Going to school as a petulant child was made easier by knowing she'd have her sister nearby at all times.

The years between her primary and secondary schools were the worst; she couldn't attend the same school because the hierarchy of the two was fundamentally different. Whatever the reason, grown-ups didn't understand how much she needed her sister.

Of course, going through puberty at that time made everything that much stranger. Hair growing where it'd never done before, bleeding irregularly and feeling the aching cramps that accompanied the wrath of some hell she'd rather be without, her shirts and underclothes suddenly beginning to feel too tight as new life developed within, molting the dorky child she'd been before somewhat ungracefully into a teenager, complete with the finest in dental technology and special medicines to keep her face and body clear of unsightly blemishes. Her freckles, though, seemed only to get worse.

She could only imagine what Elsa was going through, being that in addition to being the brilliant child Anna could never be, she had the ability to wield ice. Manipulating water of any sort seemed to be a talent of hers, something which her parents had attributed to a rare genetic mutation, though anything of colder variety worked well to her favor. It certainly explained how a blonde existed in a family of predominantly brunette relatives.

Nobody understood it, really. Even Elsa seemed hesitant to explain what it was like; she certainly saw no benefit to her powers and found them to be more the cause of trouble than solution. The number of times she'd been in detention for losing control stacked up faster than those for Anna's general misconduct. Her parents seemed to understand, but only on a base level: for Elsa, it was purely accidental; for Anna, it was to garner attention and cause chaos.

If they'd only known about the festering turmoil of emotions raging under her pretty red hair. If they'd only known the kiss she'd given Elsa one day at the age of eight had been her first and would haunt her at night. If only.

But it was at age fifteen Anna suffered her greatest travesty.

The day had started simply enough: her parents, as was routine every three months, boarded their interstellar shuttle to reunite with the ISA once again to discuss politics, economics, and general space talk the likes of which Anna was neglect to understand. Elsa was the one to pick up on it, conditioned to be the next counsellor once her parents had stepped down and retired. So, naturally, she boarded the shuttle as well, all bidding Anna a farewell for their two week hiatus from the home. Anna was sad to see them leave, but left it well enough alone; the tantrums she'd thrown in the past had been neglect to accomplish much beyond aggravating her parents, even if her sister confessed she found it endearing.

So they boarded and departed, and Anna was sent to spend time with her cousin Rapunzel while she waited for her family to return.

Except it would never come to pass.

"Anna."

She looked up, her braids tossing over her shoulders. The holoscreen had a headline marked in white text on red background, a newscaster with ridiculous hair listing the daily grievances.

The headline read "Councilman and Family Murdered," though Anna could only raise an eyebrow.

"What, Punz?"

"Isn't that your dad's ship?"

Anna took another look. The craft on the screen, a sleek vessel with the shape of an arrowhead, spun slowly in a circle as the newscaster rattled off information about when and where the attack had happened.

"It…looks like his ship…"

The serial number matched. Clear as day, the dark blue printing on the starboard side of the hull matched the memorized sequence Anna had known since she was small, and she gasped.

"No…"

The reporter indicated that a hijacking was suspected to be the culprit, that the ship appeared to have exploded in subzero temperature, and Anna stared unblinking at the screen.

 _Elsa._

She knew, with startling clarity, that Elsa had destroyed the ship. She was the only thing that would have been capable of doing so, and she managed the feat to avoid being captured by an unknown alien hijacker.

 _Elsa._

Anna had no time to think. She bolted from the house, startled shouts echoing from Rapunzel's distant mouth. She ran, tears slipping down her cheeks, sobs catching in her throat amid her strangled breaths, heart pounding, lungs squeezing, body collapsing in on itself.

She ran into the vegetation behind the house, heading deep into the forest, drawing her plasma pistol from her hip. The weapon was supposed to be for self-defense purposes, and it had never been fired before.

She fell to her knees, limbs and organs aching from the strain. She'd found it. One of several mighty silver-barked trees in the forest known for their inherently unstable nature when exposed to high heat or pressure.

Anna pointed the pistol at the tree. _She's gone. Time to rid myself of these feelings._

"Anna, no!"

The tree detonated, a wave of heat energy whiplashing back to scorch Anna and set her clothing alight. Nearby trees were uprooted; the ground trembled from the explosion. She could hear screaming above as she fell backward, splayed on the floor of the forest, a charred mess of vaporized flesh and blackened anatomy.

She watched a shadow descend from above, eyes drifting to black as the end closed down upon her.

* * *

 _ **This shall be an attempt at revisiting my prior story-telling ability, but as anyone who's written anything will tell anyone who's never written anything, Writing in and of itself is really fucking hard. I am very aware that this chapter is raw and unpolished, and I am also very aware that, as a chapter on its own, it sucks. I really offer nothing to you guys with this short bit, and I'm not bothered by that; with any luck, this work will evolve and gradually say the things I've got jotted down on a notebook paper. I have an idea for the basic plot of the story, but we'll see just how closely I follow that plot.**_

 _ **Anyways, this story is yours, snowflakes. -Canis**_


	2. Hans 01

_**Alright, I've modified the structuring for this story and changed the chapters accordingly. Trying to cram so much into one idea isn't working, so I'll cut everything apart for continuity. Chapter "titles" will now reflect upon the character-in-focus.**_

* * *

 **Hans**

"This is an unforeseen tragedy," the Grand Councilwoman said, a shimmer to her black eyes as she gazed over the crowd. "Not only have we lost our valued Councilman of Terran Descent, we've also lost his wife and his children. The entire family has been destroyed only to leave us in the wake of mourning over the ashes."

The crowd remained hushed in her ethereal presence. Her black-and-gold carbon-weave suit glittered under the sunlight from the three astral bodies above, the heat blazing despite the cold chill running rampant through the audience.

"As if such a travesty lacks enough strain, attempts at recovering any of the four bodies have proven entirely useless. The empty caskets here are only bitter reminders that valued members of the esteemed Terran species have been eliminated for reasons still under investigation. It is with great sorrow and remorse that we now turn to lowering these four empty shells into the loam below in the hope that their absences in our hearts and arms will breed new life. Their dedication and generosity will not be forgotten."

The coffins lowered simultaneously, the latest in gravity deflection technology keeping them in a silent, controlled descent. The green alien at the podium stepped back, tossing a handful of loam onto each of the varnished white lids, as was traditional Terran custom.

"The Council offers its deepest condolences to friends and extended relatives of the deceased."

She stepped down and away, standing off to the side of the proceedings as the audience stood and gathered belongings to depart. Auburn hair and vibrant sideburns bobbed into her vision, and her green irises cast a cursory glance over the Terran before her.

"Yes?"

"Grand Councilwoman, I am Hans Westergaard."

She blinked.

"I am to be the new Councilman Terran for the ISA."

"Ah, right. I must confess, I had not expected any of the council to attend this terrible procession."

He sniffed. "As a fellow Terran, and as the cloned amalgam of Agdar's family's best genetic traits, it only serves that I honor the family from which I originate."

Her brow furrowed. "Cloned amalgam?"

"Verily. I am merely a composition of Agdar's likeness, Idunn's charm, and their daughters' intelligence and personality, respectively."

She could see it. He was rewarded with a nod. "As the newest addition to the Council, there are several protocols over which we must confer to assure the propriety of your appointment."

"That won't be necessary. I've already memorized them."

She blinked again.

"Unlike most Terrans and their eidetic memories, I have true photographic, olfactory, auditory, and kinetic forms of memory as a byproduct of my creation. While my appearance and the majority of my figure may be organic, my brain is entirely binary."

She marveled. "I was unaware Terrans had access to such modernity."

"The Arendelles were fortuitous enough to research and develop only the best. They were experts in neural science and biomechanics, as you should recall."

"Indeed. Though," she took to walking, the humanoid sliding into step beside her, "compressing synaptic impulses into the space of a human skull without extensive technological interfacing and heat dispersal seems infeasible."

He laughed. "Rest assured, my cognition may be inorganic, but almost everything processed by my biotic brain are encoded and decoded in the main lab back at the Arendelle residence. I possess but a simple processor, memory chip, and antenna for transmission."

"I suppose such is more feasible. Had I not already witnessed a former Kweltikwan create an experimental lifeform with unrestrained physical and mental properties, I would doubt the legitimacy of your claims."

He offered her a wry smile. She could not muster one in return.

"For having just lost your creators, you certainly seem to have a positive disposition."

They stopped under a large, leafy tree near the rocket which had brought the alien to the planet. "I will do my grieving on my own at the Arendelle residence, when I am better able to process the day's events. Besides, I've already shed my fair share of tears for this loss. Now is neither place nor time for such."

She offered a nod and a hand. He shook it, the warmth of his palm bleeding into her gelatinous protoplasm. She fixed him with a hard look.

"Welcome to the Intergalactic Space Administration, Councilman Terran."

"It is a pleasure to be a part of the council, Grand Councilwoman."

She dropped her hand. "Take care, Hans Westergaard."

"And you as well, Aela Shvykha-na'etra"

She found herself unsurprised that he knew her name; presumably, his neural link to the Arendelle residence had gleaned such from their meticulous file-keeping. She turned and stepped aboard her ship, directing the pilot to the upper atmosphere in preparation for a warp.

His chartreuse eyes had burned into hers long after she'd completed the jump.

* * *

He watched as the point analysis done on the ship retrieved a list of information about its payload, top speed, and relative destination, among a myriad of other information his photoreceptors automatically logged into the Arendelle database. Facial muscles twitched as he accessed his comms link, directing the target back to the house.

"H4, reporting back."

"How did it go?"

"All appears to have proceeded well. The four shells were lowered into their stalls. Protocol A113 is currently active."

"A113? What the hell?"

He faltered, uplink scanning through the database as muscles flexed in his legs, carrying him to the designated recovery zone nearly a kilometer away. "Memory recalls here that you indicated the initiation of Protocol A113 upon introduction to the Grand Councilwoman."

"I meant at the council meeting! Not in a fucking graveyard!"

He immediately bypassed security failsafes and disengaged the code. "My mistake; I misinterpreted the information which was presented to me."

"It's fine," the voice sighed. He chewed his lip.

"The protocol has been disengaged and will not resume activity until the meeting in one week."

"No, that won't work. I'll have to reupload the entire code; it's entirely time-based and requires that we remain in constant contact while it runs. I'll make the necessary changes later."

He paused, having reached the destination. "Would you like me to reverse the saved state of the code to undo its effects thusfar?"

"Reversing the save-state won't work; the code has an anti-rollback countermeasure programmed into its primary string. There isn't anything you can do from out there. Approach the large tree at your four."

He spun one-hundred-twenty degrees to his right, locating the tree in question.

"Push on the knot with your palm."

The trunk shimmered.

"Welcome home."

He stepped into the foyer of the Arendelle house, almost a parsec and a half away from the graveyard. The air crackled behind him as the warp closed; the house itself remained silent and preserved. He terminated the link and set off to change out of the formal black suit and into something far more casual: a cotton tunic and a pair of denim pants.

His stasis chamber being in the basement amid the tangle of wires and hum of machinery containing his digitized memories, he wandered further into the organized chaos and encountered a locked, titanium-reinforced set of double-doors which usually led onward to an in-house gym he used for cardio and weight-training to stay form-fit should emergency arise. That the door was locked left him unsure as to his next maneuver; he could only think to knock and hope for an answer.

Something beyond the door detonated. The acidic smell of smoke leaked through the near-perfect seal of the door and assaulted his nose. He concluded that perhaps the gym was off-limits at that point in time, and with the resignation of a disrupted routine clouding his processor he ventured upstairs to locate sustenance with which his body might replenish his depleting energy supplies.

Besides, the thought of a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich sounded particularly appealing.

* * *

 _ **I'm actually mildly regretting the decision I've made to disclose Hans's lack of organic brain to the Grand Councilwoman. Oh well. Welcome to space-age Game of Thrones. -Canis**_


	3. Anna 01

_**Once again with shorter chapters for better continuity. We'll see if they get longer as I get more investment; this story is rather nebulous and only partway formed in my head.**_

* * *

 **Anna**

"So, tell me, my little red-haired one: for what point or purpose have you brought me here?"

Anna released the Kweltikwan alien's restraints and allowed his fat, stubby fingers to massage his wrists. She maintained a level gaze with all four of his eyes, briefly taking note of his vest, jiggling gut, and ill-fitting trousers.

"You're a mad scientist, right?"

"I prefer to be called 'evil genius,' little Terran girl," he growled, directing one of his bulbous fingers toward her. "But yes, am scientist."

"Then perhaps you can help me."

He scoffed. "What could little Terran girl possibly need from Jumba, eh?"

"I need you to run some scans on me."

"Scan for what?"

She hesitated, fully aware that any information offered to this brute could well end up coming back to kill her, especially given her direct violation of galactic policy in robbing an alien planet of one of its high-security prisoners.

"You don't know what you want, do you?"

She let a spurt of fire lick the tips of her fingers, spiraling gently toward the ceiling as it slipped off her hand. He followed the flame with his eyes, hands now frozen in their ministrations.

"So, little Terran girl have big fire problem, eh?"

"It's worse than that, Doctor."

He blinked, a grin forming on his face. "Been long time since Jumba was last called doctor, little Terran girl."

"Anna."

"Eh?"

"If you're gonna keep talking to me like I'm inferior to you, at least have the decency to call me by my name."

He scratched his chin before leaning against a nearby workbench. It was any wonder his weight didn't crush the aluminum appliance and send its chemicals spilling to the floor.

"Well, then. What can Doctor Jumba do for Anna today, hm?"

"I need you to help me figure out what I'm capable of doing."

He hummed, walking slow circles around the red-head. "We will need to do several training experiments, scans, and chemical tests to ensure full knowledge of capabilities."

She nodded once. He stopped in front of her, crossing his arms.

"Are you sure this is your desire, Anna?"

"Why else would I bust your fat ass out of prison?"

He barked, laughter echoing in the room. "Is good argument! I like your spirit."

He lumbered around the workbench, humming and cracking his individual knuckles as he went. She watched a labcoat and goggles slide from a satchel on his side and over his figure while a syringe and several sterile vials popped off a rack and into his hands.

"Now we begin first exam. Take off shirt."

She sputtered. "Excuse me?!"

"Have to establish baseline heart rate, lung capacity, organ location and function, muscle mass, all vital informations. Take off shirt."

"You're a fucking pervert."

"I prefer to be called 'evil genius,' Anna. Besides, I have no interest in Terran women; they are too thin and pretentious for my species."

She slipped her shirt over her head, clad only in a bra and cotton breeches. He waved his arm and she shucked them as well, face heated and flushed as she scowled. He chuckled.

"Believe me, naked or not, Terran is Terran. Is not appealing to me."

He slipped thick rubber gloves over his hands, donning a stethoscope and a silver probe the size of a large carrot as he approached. The stethoscope planted its membrane over her heart; the carrot's bell-end rolled over her abdomen, chilly and metallic as per its make.

"This will be baseline for all testing procedures. This will also mark first day of training."

"Training?"

"Quiet. Need accurate results. Yes, training. Pyrokinesis requires training and technique to master, and can unlock more power with practice and preparation."

He withdrew his utensils, laying them on the workbench near a holographic projection which displayed the sampled information as being suspended in the air. Anna suddenly felt very well acquainted with the inside of her body, the results even going so far as to indicate she would begin menstruating once more in the week to come.

"Now to begin chemical testing."

He lashed a massive tourniquet to her biceps, effectively rendering her arms useless. Another bound her wrists together. She scowled again, watching her veins rise as he prepped a pair of needles and vials.

"I can still set you on fire like this."

"What, you think Jumba want to tie you up and break trust you don't have?"

He sunk both of the needles into her arms, blood rushing down the tubes and into the large vials. She focused on the colored vials behind the brute, red life streaming from her arms and into the glass containers to await further analysis.

"Now," he slipped the needles from her arms and patched the holes with gauze and tape, "we see what you can do. Create flame."

"How big?"

"Create flame," he repeated.

She growled, generating a small flame in the palm of her right hand.

"Now other hand. Same time."

She let another flare form, hovering millimeters off her palms as they burned. He watched.

"Now, extinguish."

She put the flames out.

"Create flame in right hand, hold for ten seconds, extinguish, create flame in left hand, hold for ten seconds, extinguish, repeat for one hour."

" _What?!_ "

"Only way to learn control is to practice control."

"This isn't seeing what I can do! This is a waste of fucking time!"

"You want bigger? Fine, we go bigger."

He plucked a ball from his satchel and hurled it across the room; Anna had not expected the blubbery mass to be capable of throwing so far. The ball exploded on impact, forming a wall of shimmering metal one hundred meters away. She squinted.

"This is wall of tungsten. If can melt from here," he indicated, carving a line into the concrete floor with his horned toe, "then ready for new test. But probably cannot melt from here."

She snarled, whipping a flare to life. She projected the column of flames outward, sending fire spitting and crackling down the length of the gym.

Except that the flames only reached over a ten-meter range, and they flared wildly out of control at that distance.

Jumba fell backward cackling, salted tears streaming from his eyes. "This why Jumba say control first," he choked, regaining his feet as the flames died. The glare Anna afforded him could have scorched his skin to a crisp had she allowed such.

"You need control before power, Anna. Need to focus fire into flare. Fire is unpredictable. Flare is controlled. Fire goes everywhere. Flare only has one target."

She started small, creating flames in her hands and joining them together into a larger flame.

"Smaller."

She shrank the campfire back to a simple flame.

"Now, tighten."

She concentrated, her temple pulsing as the flame condensed, glowing brighter the harder she pushed.

"Tighter, Anna."

She added more fuel to the fire, straining her will as she pushed the flames tighter, the previously orange color glowing near-white.

"Tighter."

She squeezed, feeling as though she would either rupture a blood vessel in her eyes or force her bowels to empty all over the floor, but the flame continued to glow brighter until it became bluish-white. A tiny flare, no bigger than a matchstick, but it was bright and it would have seared her skin were she lacking immunity to the temperature. Her legs felt like jelly. Her arms had begun to vibrate from the tension.

"Now, point at wall slowly. Keep control."

She rotated her hands backwards to point her cupped palms toward the wall of tungsten. The flare flickered, but through her fingers she could still see the blue tint of the blinding intensity.

"Next step is to gather all of energy and hold in stomach. When ready, push all of energy through hands at same time. Make flare tight, hot, thin but long."

She congealed everything she could muster into a tight knot in her stomach. The ache in her muscles multiplied, the energy keeping them taut relegated to her stomach. She began to shake violently, her control ebbing. The flare flickered.

"Hold control, Anna!"

She grit her teeth tighter, sweat streaming down her face. She sucked in a huge breath of air, compressing it into the ball in her stomach. The flare stabilized; her legs continued to struggle for purchase. Her arms cramped; the pain began to addle her mind.

"Push when ready. Keep control."

She took another deep breath, and in one split instant her arms and legs stabilized. The tip of the flare condensed into a tight point, and she flooded the light with everything she had.

"No!"

The flare crushed itself before detonating, blasting her arms wide and sending her scorched body flying backward as a deafening explosion rocked the building. She smashed back-first against a utility cart, sending it and its cargo crashing into the wall and her spine. She slid to the floor, the pain of a thousand stabbing needles and crippling lactic acid rendering her immobile and unresponsive.

She heard Jumba groan from somewhere in front of her. "Not enough control. This will not be easy to train."

Without warning, she burst into flames, feeling her body and vision numb into black.

* * *

"H4, reporting back."

She grunted, hauling herself off the floor. "How did it go?"

"All appears to have proceeded well. The four shells were lowered into their stalls. Protocol A113 is currently active."

"A113? What the hell?" She ignored the gaping stare Jumba offered.

"Memory recalls here that you indicated the initiation of Protocol A113 upon introduction to the Grand Councilwoman." She heard uncertainty in his voice and groaned.

"I meant at the council meeting! Not in a fucking graveyard!"

"My mistake; I misinterpreted the information which was presented to me."

Trust a brainless clone to bypass simple instructions. She sighed. "It's fine."

"The protocol has been disengaged and will not resume activity until the meeting in one week."

"No, that won't work." She brought up a hologram projector, scanning the distant planet for his location. "I'll have to reupload the entire code; it's entirely time-based and requires that we remain in constant contact while it runs. I'll make the necessary changes later."

"Would you like me to reverse the saved state of the code to undo its effects thusfar?"

"Reversing the save-state won't work; the code has an anti-rollback countermeasure programmed into its primary string." The data came back, highlighting his location as a dot on a flat map riddled with trees. "There isn't anything you can do from out there. Approach the large tree at your four."

She watched him move over, keying codes into the console.

"Push on the knot with your palm."

She heard crackling upstairs.

"Welcome home."

She terminated the link, resetting the protocol and turning back to face Jumba once she'd closed out of the console. He still gaped.

"What?"

"You just turned into fireball and recovered with no injury or fatigue."

"It's not the first time," she shrugged, synthesizing an apple with a processing machine beside the console. She bit into the fruit.

"This defy logic. No Terran can just…spontaneously combust and survive explosion. Is impossible."

"You just watched it happen." She stole another bite from the apple.

He fumbled for her blood samples, immediately fitting one into a diagnosis chamber. Her blood congealed and followed what appeared to be standard testing measures.

"Maybe if I…"

He heated the vial, eyes widening. While the gauge read almost four hundred Kelvin, her blood refused to boil.

"What the…?"

He cranked the heat further; six hundred Kelvin still saw no change to the vial, though the glass began to glow orange.

"I would shut off the machine before you melt the glass."

He complied, letting the slightly-misshapen sample cool and resume its unaltered state. He turned to her.

"I have theory. You can feel heat, yes?"

She nodded.

"Can feel light up there?"

One meter over her head and several meters beyond the white line on the floor resided a fluorescent light, pure white light bathing the area in a glow the same as its brethren scattered throughout the room.

"Try to feel light from here."

She blinked. "What the hell are you on about?"

He shook his head. "Never to be mind. But maybe…"

He looked around, spying a cardboard box under one of the countertops scattered throughout the gym-turned-lab. From within he plucked a similar fluorescent bulb, handing it to Anna.

"Don't heat. Just power."

She took an end in each hand, concentrating. For a moment, nothing happened. Brows furrowed, she concentrated harder, and the bulb sparked, a faint glow igniting the chemical inside.

"Push more power."

She flexed, watching the bulb glow and illuminate the area.

"More!"

She pushed again, albeit nowhere near as hard as with the flare. It glowed brighter.

A knock sounded at the door. She lost focus to turn toward the noise.

Without warning, the bulb exploded, powder and shards of glass spraying everywhere. She sputtered, dropping the remainder of the bulb to the ground to further shatter into powder and glass. Jumba grunted.

"I think I have seen enough for today."

* * *

 _ **I toyed with which powers Anna would possess. My research has both been hugely helpful and entirely inconclusive; different sources say different things regarding "superpowers" of any nature, so I've decided to be decently scientific about it.**_

 _ **Jumba is known as a Kweltikwan according to the official Lilo and Stitch wiki.**_

 ** _For the non-science folk, here's the lo-down on the technical stuff:_**

 ** _-Kelvin is a unit of measurement for temperature. It is the same as -273 Celsius and is considered "absolute zero," or the point at which all forms of matter lose so much thermal energy that they become motionless, solid, and dissociated from time. By this scale, 373K would boil water (and blood).  
_** ** _-Tungsten has the highest-known melting point of any solid at 3'422 Celsius. By comparison, the sun's temperature is about 5'600 Celsius on the surface.  
_** ** _-Warps are theoretically possible according to Einstein's Theories if we account for the notion of parallel universes and Hawking Radiation as proof of presence. Basically, traveling faster than light is possible by fracturing our current three-space dimensions and linking them with a four-space "tunnel," otherwise theorized as a cosmic string, wormhole, or warp portal. This also warrants the possibility of time travel, though debate still rages over the legitimacy of the theory as it cannot be accurately tested with current scientific and technological restraints, as should be fairly obvious._**

 ** _-Canis_**


	4. Hans 02

_**Here we go again. The previous chapter (formerly Chapter 2) was sliced apart to make 2 and 3. This one was pre-sliced and resumes the flow of the story.**_

* * *

 **Hans**

"Terran Councilman, glad you could attend the meeting."

"I arrived as soon as I could," he replied, sliding into his plush leather seat, taking great pains to avoid wrinkling his honeysuckle-colored suit. "To what do I owe this great pleasure?"

"Not what. Whom."

An image of an overweight, four-eyed alien with purple skin, a pink belly, and an orange prison jumpsuit flashed onto the wall behind the Grand Councilwoman, easily seen through her holographic head. The numbers on the placard were written in common, a tongue which Hans had not elected to speak prior to the meeting. He switched over immediately, earning a few stares from other aliens in the room.

"Jookiba, Jumba. Species Kweltikwan, Class A, Personnel 066437224. Never heard of him."

"He somehow managed to escape my top-security prison."

Hans blinked, his processor running several strings and counter-checks on the processed information. "Isn't that prison supposed to be impermeable?"

"Apparently not," chimed a Svaka, a creature with the appearance of a shark-toothed ram. "The prison wall may not have been damaged, but several access overrides were triggered by an unauthorized force within the prison."

"How do we know it wasn't remote?" Hans fixed his optics on the Svaka, noting briefly that the species was known more for brute strength than intelligence and had seen many of its members take up guard positions within the prison.

"Hin'kwat'sjn? Victimized by remote hacking? The astronomical unlikelihood that it could happen-"

"But it is possible nonetheless."

The room fell into silence as the argument died in the creature's throat.

"Right?"

The Grand Councilwoman squinted at Hans. "What are you getting at, Councilman Terran?"

"What I'm getting at is this: how do we know a source somewhere got into the prison to set this criminal free? How do we know the criminal didn't simply have an external accomplice to override the security?"

The Grand Councilwoman blinked, leaning back to think. Hans noted an elevated heart-rate, though other physiological information was neglect to be detected by his optics; even the Svaka's neural patterns were in his sights; for some reason, hers were unable to be extrapolated.

"Perhaps…though I am not so inclined to believe this is the case. No evidence of forced entry from an external source has surfaced anywhere within our security scans; the only indication we have that anything went amiss by normal regulation is that the prisoner managed to get out of his cell, and the cell had an algorithmic script to tamper with all manner of security measurements in place around the facility, with clear focus on those which would lead the suspect straight out to the escape pod bay."

His processor began to heat up, churning through the data. "If that is the most likely option, then who takes the role of most likely suspect?"

"Possibly another inmate or a guard. It is unlikely help came externally; the job was too precise."

More data crunched. He scowled, the perfect appearance of a thinking terran. "Then it sounds as though we have a case of treachery on hand, Grand Councilwoman."

"We know that already, sir," a squeaky voice piped up. The pixie-sized harpy-like creature regarded him with a polite, level gaze. "It has been pre-established that some form of deception had to infiltrate the prison's security system to allow for such an event."

"What we need is to catch the bastard," the Syaka spat. "He's a known criminal, and is unafraid to create genetic mutations just for his pleasure. His departure from the prison is a threat to our galactic security."

Hans aimed a look at the Councilwoman. "Is his freedom that problematic?"

"As a manipulator of genetic material, he violates one of the key laws in place within this galaxy: no specie shall attempt to create, manipulate, or otherwise tamper with any form of genetic identity. His work as a chemist, while beneficial to the galaxy in the past, strayed too far into genetic experimentation for our liking, and so he was imprisoned for the crime."

"If he has access and ability to changing genetics," the harpy picked up, "it means he could very easily conceal himself, create an army of brainless clones, or worse. His ability to manipulate and control others through perfect amalgams of any given specie would be unmatched and unprecedented in the field of biochemistry."

"And while that certainly would set a new galactic standard for us with regards to technology and the future of our understanding of ourselves and each other, the risks far outweigh the benefits."

Hans frowned. "You were more willing to jail a brilliant mind than guide and monitor his experiments? This sounds like a desire to withhold invaluable research and information from the future of the galaxy."

He offered a level gaze at the cold, hard glare fixed at him from across the table. "You dare suggest something I've already considered at great length as being better than the decision I elected to make regarding my prison and its inmates?"

"I merely wish to inquire as to the reasoning, Grand Councilwoman. I apologize if I have come off informally or in an otherwise negative fashion for our ability to understand and converse with each other."

The last bit he spoke in Common for the benefit of all in the room. He kept his gaze controlled as he observed the Councilwoman calculate something he couldn't quite place within the confines of her elongated skull. The harpy gazed at him in disbelief. The Syaka looked uncertain what to do.

"I accept your appeasement, Terran Councilman," she returned in Common. "But understand," she reverted to English, "that I do not take insubordination lightly. You would do well to learn your place here, lest a less-than-forgiving adversary comes across your path."

He offered a half-smile in return. "Then, we return to the business at hand. I can loan some of Arendelle's ships if necessary."

She offered a nod. "Do. I shall rally a search party to attempt to trace the data trail through the cosmos to track down our dear, mislaid inmate. Chances are he can't have gotten far."

She looked around. "As we do not have anything else to discuss at present, this meeting is officially adjourned."

* * *

 _ **This is where the vindictive part of me argues that Hans being able to process at quantum speed is essential to this story's continuum. It also establishes a precedent for all other chapters to come.**_

 _ **Quantum computing essentially changes information from binary (1 and 0) electrical charges into photons (packets of light which are simultaneously wave-form and particle). These photons travel at the speed of light (300 million meters per second) and are far more "encrypted" in terms of contained information than the standard bit or byte. They also have the ability to persist as a 1 and a 0 simultaneously, in addition to being waves and particles. Yay complicated.**_

 _ **Common is being used as the generic, universally-accepted tongue of dealings with foreign species. English, as it stands, is the most-frequently-spoken second language on Earth, and for Earthlings (terrans) to emulate galactic unity, they need a unified form of language. English already has that designation in our current day and age, hence its utility here as carrying forth what it has already earned and proven. This is by no means any argument for or against the language of English, nor toward any other languages that exist in our mix of cultures; this is merely the extrapolated progression of humanity according to current understanding of physics and projected developments to come with time.**_

 _ **Another ramble. Apologies. As stated before, I find this stuff fascinating despite being an English major in college. -Canis**_


	5. Hans 03

_**Perhaps this is bad posting of me to have two back-to-back updates with the same character as the figurehead, but I had a brainstorm while writing the prior section and decided this had to be penned.**_

* * *

 **Hans**

"Terran Councilman!"

He turned, a cup of fresh coffee in his hand. The harpy glided down the hallway toward him; his internal databank supplied her specie as Wyva, traditionally small humanoid creatures with wings for upper limbs and a fierce devotion to their aviary gods.

"Ah, Wyva Councilwoman."

She smiled, hovering in front of him with delicate flaps of her wings. "Might we fetch a moment to communicate…without interference?"

He offered a nod. "Lead on."

She glided down the hall and stole into a room on the left, holding the door ajar with her boot-clad feet. He stepped into the dark room and waved a hand; the lights clicked on and the door swung shut. The bolt latched, locking the room.

"Why has the door locked?"

The Wyva flitted to the table, fluttering her feathers in a complicated display of red and blue plumage, and Hans felt the room pressurize. She sighed, turning back to face him.

"There. Now we're truly alone."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've now soundproofed the room and disabled all ancillary devices and services. We're completely isolated from the outside."

Hans immediately ran a branch scan of his internals and their uplink, all of which were still perfectly intact. Every other perceived signal previously intersecting the room, however, had vanished.

"I isolated your encryption and kept a firewall open for you."

He glared at her. "What _are_ you?"

"Please, Terran Councilman. I mean you no harm."

"But you know about my uplink."

"Only that you have an endless gateway affixed to your person. I assume it to be a mandatory channel of communication with others?"

He blinked. _The encryptions aren't so easily intercepted. Smart, Anna._

"An information relay of sorts. Now, what business do you have, Wyva Councilman?"

"Oh, please," she groaned, kicking off her armored boots and helm. "We're no longer councilmembers. We're just two different species having a conversation. Call me by my name, Kiva."

"Kiva?"

"It means 'cloud' in my home language."

She shucked the last of her armor, taking to preening her feathers in the center of the table. Hans elected to take a seat at the table in one of the high-backed chairs.

"Then I'm Hans. It means 'his' in my home language."

"Well, Hans. I'm glad to meet a member of your specie."

"As am I of yours." He held a finger aloft to touch her extended wingtip, a common gesture of peace between differing species.

"I just wanted to say, without any sort of interference from the council or others who would do well to avoid our business…that I admire your bravery."

He sipped his coffee, eyebrow quirked.

"Nobody has ever stood up to the Grand Councilwoman like that. She seemed unnerved."

"Aela probably hasn't ever been shown any defiance from Terrans. My specie only ever succeeds at providing petulant whining to get its own way, so the thought of an intelligent member likely seemed irksome."

"It means you are not so easily manipulated.

He took another gulp. "It means she sees me as a potential threat to the council."

Kiva blinked, stepping backward. "A threat?"

"Maybe more of a nuisance at this point, though I am sure the thought of more has crossed her mind."

The Wyva relaxed. "Forgive me, Hans. My people…we do not fare well when violence and hostility are brought into consideration. We…we are small, as you see."

"But surely not to be underestimated. You impressed the council with your words, Kiva."

Her cheeks tinged red. Hans took another swallow from his drink.

"If intelligence is what keeps your people from engaging in violence, the Terrans for whom I speak could serve to learn a great deal from your specie. My people would be far better off leaving violent actions and emotion-based judgment by the wayside."

"Have…have Terrans had a history for this sort of behavior?"

His processor heated up once more, crunching streams of data at quantum speeds. "We…have not been known for our kindness and respect. Terrans are traditionally a warring people, unable to put differences in language or skin tone aside for the promotion of a greater good. Nonetheless…I am their councilman, and as such I am required to keep a clear head and focused thoughts where the rest of my specie might otherwise fall victim to its evolutionary instincts."

Another sigh of relief. Another sip of coffee.

"Surely you can't have pulled me aside simply to chat of our species. There must be some other reason you've put us in a cell."

Kiva grinned. "Actually, Hans, there is. Your ability to press so easily against the ruling set by the Grand Councilwoman makes me hopeful that I might provide some form of proposition to you."

He nodded, another draught sliding down his throat. He tossed the emptied cup into an incineration receptacle. "What is your desire?"

"My specie…is not safe, Hans. My being on the council and speaking for my people is because I was elected diplomatically, but…the rest of my specie hoped I would serve to garner some form of protection for them, and they clamor for it. They are afraid of a star system takeover by our neighboring enemies, the Phich."

He drew up a schematic of known traits about the Phich specie, calculating data regarding the populace of the Wyva and the number of planets within the star system. "Have the Phich given you any reason to fear extermination?"

"I have received several direct transmissions from Hork, the leader of the Phich, proclaiming he aims to eradicate the Wyva specie from his neighboring star system so that his people may have more land and resources to consume and utilize. He means to bring about a genocide of my people, Hans. I…I cannot ask the Grand Councilwoman; I wouldn't know how, nor do I believe she would honor my request for protection."

"Are you willing to leave the system behind for a new one?" Immediately, systems with relative mass and sustainability began filing into his vision, replacing the panel with the information about the Phich.

"That system is their home, Hans. The greatest testament to our gods resides on our home planet, Wyva-hes. We can't abandon the only light they have in the darkness the Phich promise."

"What would you have me do?"

"Arendelle has the finest starships in the entire galaxy. Any fight the Phich could hope to provide would fall to an Arendelle garrison protecting my system."

Hans ran numbers, crunching more data. "I have no indication that the Phich have acquired Arendelle ships…nor does my local intel indicate anything to such."

"You have local intel on the planet?"

Hans refocused away from his numbers. "I have local intel on _every_ planet, Kiva. It is essential that I keep as much information available to me as possible."

She gazed at him, a furrow to her brow. "You're not a Terran."

"I am an amalgam of several Terrans with the latest in quantum computing on my side. I may not be Terran in the strictest sense of the word, but I am their representative."

She blinked. "Terrans may be smarter than I thought."

"Only select few, though those who contributed to my creation have since perished due to external circumstances. As for the Phich…my only concern with deploying a garrison of Arendelle ships is that they are Terran-made. Placing a protective fleet between you and your enemy could serve to anger them, both at you for not complying with their demands and at my specie for intervening in matters that largely do not concern us."

"But-"

He held up a hand. "I will not promise any form of protection outright; doing so would be foolish, you no doubt understand. However, what I can do is attempt to confer with the Grand Councilwoman to see if perhaps she has a solution. She needn't know that you and your specie are involved, nor need she be aware of any of the intricacies of this situation. However, given my… _demonstration of reason_ at our most recent meeting, while she may not be receptive to my inquiry, she may surprise me and find my disrespect somewhat intriguing, especially from a Terran representative.

The Wyva launched herself at his arm, crying into his suit jacket with praises and vouchers of thanks spilling from her lips with wild abandon. Hans traced a single finger down her feathers, a calming gesture unique to their specie.

"Hans, you may well be the salvation of my specie. I-I don't know how I can ever repay you for this."

"Easy, Kiva. I still have yet to speak with Aela. She may deny me clearance yet, in which case I would be in direct violation of her mandate were I to pursue an alternate course of action. We shall see what sort of humor she may hold and, indeed, whether or not she will agree to my intervention in such a drastic fashion."

She nodded, sliding her armor back onto her lithe form. "I thank you, Hans. Even if things run against my wishes," she trailed off, shivering with swimming eyes, "I shall be grateful that you were willing to at least listen to my plight. Anything more is planets more than I should ever hope to ask or repay."

"You flatter me, Kiva. Now, chin up, Wyva Councilwoman. You've got a galaxy to face, and you should do well to keep a clear head and dry eyes when doing so."

She nodded. "Until next we meet, Terran Councilman."

"Until next we meet."

* * *

 _ **So, according to Word, Kiva is a word in its dictionary; it neglects the subjection of the infamous red underline when viewed in my program.**_

 _ **Technically, species is the plural of specie. Similar to syllabi from syllabus, tacos from taco, and data from datum.**_

 _ **Auditory isolation through conventional means is possible: something known as the "Room of Silence" already exists and is void of any form of radio transmission or interference, in addition to being pressurized and dead silent. Supposedly, the room is so quiet the brain is forced to create auditory hallucinations to keep from going insane, despite the fact that doing such is a suggestion of mental unrest. Dubbing the location the "Room of Schizophrenia" would not be entirely out of line; the brief research I've done indicates that the incessant ringing of the inner ear begins to delude the brain into believing it can hear voices (as part of the hallucinations) and will, with long periods of exposure, create cognitive overload resulting in mental disturbance.**_

 _ **More science. This is a scifi fic, after all. Aside from that, there isn't much I can say regarding Hans or anything else thusfar; it may be an oversight on my part that he is required to network back to the Arendelle household despite having quantum computing at his aid, though my argument stands that the sheer volume of information accessible by his processor would far outsize his body, even condensed down to photon packets and stored as light pulses within a prismatic retention chamber.**_

 _ **That probably made no sense to anyone. -Canis**_


	6. Anna 02

_**Short. Maybe partially unnecessary for what I have planned.**_

* * *

 **Anna**

"So Anna, tell Jumba how came by powers."

She swished the water around in her mouth before swallowing, kicking her feet up on the workbench. "Well, let's see…I tried to commit suicide by shooting heated plasma at a nitrile tree, the tree exploded and leveled the nearby forest, a black thing came down from above, and the next I knew I was waking up in the middle of the forest that night. All I knew was that I had massive claw marks on my shoulders and that I could shoot fire from my hands."

"How did you find out about fire?"

"I…scratched my hand and singed some of the grass."

Jumba snorted. "Very good. What more do you know?"

"That's basically everything I know. I was only a mile away from home, so I made it back and saw myself on the news, a blackened corpse."

"But you live."

She shrugged. "I don't know what happened. All I know is, the media claimed the entire family was dead, so I took to hiding myself away and left Hans to cover the damages."

He blinked. Watching all four eyes flicker at odd intervals was unnerving.

"Hans Westergaard. He's a biological clone of the best parts of my family's differing traits, a genetic Frankenstein's monster. The only thing inorganic about him is his brain; it's all hosted on the servers in the other room. He's autonomous, self-aware, and sentient, even though some of his interactions with me haven't been entirely on-form with other Terrans."

The Kweltikwan grunted. "Sound like incomplete experiment to me."

"He was only ever meant to be a receptacle to hold our tissue cells in case something bad happened to anyone and we needed immediate surgery or some strange gene tweak. His electronic brain was only to keep the body alive."

"So why is in control of house?"

"It's my house. It's under my control." She swigged more water, crossing one silk-clothed leg over the other to admire her ruby-red pedicure. "I gave him autonomy under strict programming algorithms which prevent him from exploiting me or showing me any sort of disloyalty. He is programmed not to reveal that I am alive to anyone or anything; I only exist in his databanks as the house's android benefactor. Any evidence that I am either not an android or somehow otherwise associated with my empty coffin in the graveyard has been programmed as an irrelevant anomaly to avoid him letting my presence slip."

"So he overlook discrepancy for secrecy, eh? I like your style."

She smirked. "For all intents and purposes, I'm dead and gone. This new me? There's so much I can do. I have so much power, I have the freedom to do what I want, whenever I want."

 _Except for loving your dead sister._

"Be careful, Anna. Too much power is bad news for Terran species. History of Gaia prove such."

"I've got it under control."

"Not if yesterday's test is indication."

"Speaking of which," she said through clenched teeth, "I need to work on my control. Are you willing to help me?"

"I gave you directive. Ten seconds each palm, on and off, for one hour. Need to practice maintaining little flame to prepare for using big flame."

"That's fucking ridiculous. It's a waste of time!"

"Knowing control of small flame prepare for big flame. Same concept apply everywhere: must start small to get bigger."

"I can't just screw around playing with flames in my hands."

"If do not, will have repeat of yesterday. Will combust more often. Will likely face death before long by careless mistake. Need to learn discipline."

She huffed. "Fine. I'll do your stupid exercises."

He leaned back in his chair, keying several bits of data into his holographic database access while flames danced between her hands. Being stubborn would not work with the immovable wall that was Jumba Jookiba.

* * *

 _ **The progression here was designed to show more of the "hero's training," as is customary with any fic dealing with powers and their control. My focus here is more along the lines of 'she knows she has powers, she just doesn't know what she can do and needs practice to expand their utility,' contrary to the common motif in Frozen and its related fanfiction with respect to Elsa's powers and their use.**_

 _ **I don't think I have any other science bits here to clarify, but we'll see. -Canis**_


	7. unknown 01

_**Ah, something interesting. I just don't know that giving away the title so...easily...is a good idea.**_

* * *

 **?**

Several Terrans performed for the attendees, belting out songs ranging from the shrieking howls of Terran death metal down to the calming lilts of Shiranitese lullabies. The crowd thrummed appreciatively, enjoying the transitions through musical styles.

"Hey, waiter, can I get some more of that fine Terran wine?"

"Which flavor, milady?"

"Oh, the dark red. Terrans may be lousy folk, but they do know how to culture a dark red wine to perfection."

"I'll see to it that another glass is brought for you, milady."

The waiter strode off, bustling to the bar to run another glass of the dark red as asked. A fellow waitress tapped the waiter on the shoulder, offering him a sympathetic smile.

"Hand me the ivory bottle?"

He procured it, passing the bottle to the shorter girl. "Rough crowd tonight."

"Don't let their comments about Terrans put you off, Mike. They're drunk on all manner of alcohol. Probably just better to roll the jibes off."

"Thanks, St-Mary."

The shorter woman glowered at him. "Don't mess this up," she hissed.

Mike gulped. His hands twitched.

"Schmidt! Run me another glass of that Jarken Juice."

"Jayjay, coming up. Mary, can you run this red down to the woman up front?"

"Of course, Mike. Keep it easy."

She slid away. Mike watched until her dark blue hair disappeared between patrons. He served the flagon of booze to the pig-faced jokester at the end of the bar, laughing merrily with the customer. Putting on a façade for the patrons was nothing new, and it would surely earn him some tips to serve as petty change in the seedy underground.

Kov Kryven was well known as being one of the gathering hubs for different species across the galaxy. It had gained such a reputation from hosting one of the most widely-accessed taverns, and that meant it served to attract a wide range of possible intel for the two servers. Likely, they would have been ejected from service if their true identities were ever made public, but of course they had taken care to ensure such would be hidden away as long as possible.

So Mike poured several more shots for the gossiping whores from the Ursus system, mixed an alien version of a margarita for a horse-faced member of the Gullian specie, and sipped from a small flask of purified ice water while observing the bar's patrons.

The band announced a break, at which point Mary reappeared, tossing her long plaits over her shoulders. She began dabbling in making the band's favorite drinks, ensuring the local musicians had precisely the correct mixtures in their glasses to keep them happy. She stole away, letting an eye linger on Mike before slipping between two larger patrons. He knew that look. They would talk later.

"Seems interesting to me that Arendelle Corp found a new CEO so quickly."

"Ah, that Westergaard kid? He's the new Terran Councilman now, too."

"Nyshka, izzat so?"

"Something against the Terrans?"

The pair looked to Mike, who offered a pair of shot glasses to them with what they could smell to be their favorite drink within.

"Nothing against the terrans," one replied, his trunk flapping about, "just that such a new replacement was found so easily. Doesn't that make you a little bit suspicious?"

Mike shrugged. "I have a little stock in Arendelle Corp. Only had enough to buy one stock off the market, but it's better than nothing. My investment has tripled its value since he stepped up, so I wondered what you guys might know. Bit outta the loop, y'know."

He offered them a meaningful gaze. They eyed each other before looking back at Mike.

"We know he seems odd. He isn't even affiliated with the former family s'far's we can tell, but somehow he managed to inherit their business."

"Was there any discussion of a will?"

"Nah, nothing of the sort, s'far's we know. The Westergaard kid seems to have come up outta nowhere and stepped right in after the deaths of the Arendelles."

Mike nodded slowly. "And nobody knows how he did it?"

"We have a reckon that he had a hand in their deaths."

Mike was surprised. "Really?"

"Aye. Something about that kid isn't so normal. We suspect he had someone sabotage the family's starship while he took care of raping and burning their youngest."

"Heard she was charred to a crisp, that one."

"I heard it was a suicide."

Both trunks flapped toward Mike. He cleared his throat.

"I mean, no sort of a murder weapon was found, and the forensics argued that she pulled the trigger while aiming at a nitrile tree."

"Aye, maybe so, but who's to say she wasn't aiming for someone _in front of_ that tree?"

"So then, Westergaard, manages to get her killed, makes it look like a staged accident, but how's that make him the next in command?"

"Blackmail."

Mike blinked.

"Think about it. The only way he could've had any sway with the Arendelles is if he had dirt on them. Politicians like that, it's not difficult to believe he found something. Maybe old man Arendelle was busy screwing the maid or something."

Mike scowled, fighting to keep his emotions in check.

"Nobody really knows for sure, but the evidence seems to suggest that. He claims to be a friend of the family and their intended benefactor and inheritor in these sorts of circumstances, but…it's still suspicious. You'd think the loyalties would fall to another family member, right? A cousin, or a sibling."

"Ooh, what about those Corona cousins? Lady Arendelle's sister?"

"Lady Corona? Yeah, yeah, she could've inherited the entire thing and kept it going with her husband."

Mike took another swig from the flask. "When you put it like that, the whole thing does seem strange. I'll keep my eye on the stocks."

"Aye, probably a good idea. Wouldn't want the value to suddenly expire, y'know."

"Are you plotting something?"

"Wha, me? Listen, waiter, I'm not even a businessman. What would make you think I'd be plotting anything?"

"Just a question. One can never be too careful around here, right?"

"I'll drink to that," the elephant specie replied, grasping his glass. His friend did the same, leaving Mike to hold up his flask.

"To caution."

"Hear, hear."

They all downed their respective drinks, leaving Mike to slide further down the counter to serve another boisterous couple another round of liquid inebriation and refill his flask. Mary appeared at his side again.

"Band's getting ready for their encore. Shouldn't be long before we can close up shop and start shooing these drunks outside."

Mike nodded. "Best be careful, whatever you do. We definitely need to confer later."

Mary wandered away, muttering something about more dark red. Mike continued serving all manner of species in all states of intoxication, even having to go so far as to refuse serving one particularly obnoxious patron who insisted on having a seventh shot of the strongest grain alcohol Mike could find.

At the end of the night, everything quieted. The band departed with its pay, pleased at another successful evening; the crowd meandered out the door and into the street beyond, struggling to stay upright and avoid soiling itself. Mike locked the doors when the final drunkard left and sighed, turning away only to be confronted by Mary.

He barely restrained an expletive. "A-are we almost done here?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're done for the night," a gravelly voice rumbled. A rotund figure with what appeared to be a raccoon's tail and dreadlocks shuffled toward them, his beady black eyes peering at the pair. "You Terrans are better workers than I thought when I brought you in a couple months ago. With more practice you could move up beyond petty tips and serving into some, eh…less dangerous work. Maybe managing other staff below you?"

Mike grinned. "Always a pleasure to serve, Drakmar. Glad you enjoy having us."

He grunted. "Just keep up the effort, Schmidt. Don't get cocky."

Their boss shuffled away, clicking off the lights in the dining area. Mike sighed, gazing at his companion.

"Now, eh…should we relocate?"

"We can discuss this here. He's gone home for the night, and I don't trust upstairs."

The blue hair receded to a fine blue fuzz, the twin plaits morphing into two large, up-pointed ears. Mary shrank until she stood no more than three feet tall, antennae jutting from her head over bulbous black eyes, an extra set of arms making itself known. Mike felt his hair lengthen and lighten, the masculine figure receding back to its usual feminine form despite the clothes maintaining their shape. With his true figure realized, the clothes suddenly seemed baggy.

"So, have you learned anything, Stitch?"

The blue alien nodded, sidling up to a table with a pair of barstools. "Many species not like terrans. Say are weak, angry, stupid. Stitch think different; Elsa not stupid. But Stitch hold tongue."

Elsa blinked. "You disagree with them?"

"Small bit. Terran angry, weak, maybe. But, all species angry and weak. Small speck of dust in galaxy."

Elsa nodded. "Anything else?"

"Wyva specie in danger from Phich specie, Terrans lost respect from other species, Stitch hungry. That's it."

She sighed. "All I've learned is that the latest gossip suggests Hans blackmailed my parents and…and killed Anna."

Stitch blinked.

"It's not possible, though. Hans would only have been initiated after the worst-case scenario of all of our deaths had been fulfilled. I…He couldn't have killed Anna. She would've been dead for him to activate."

She slumped onto her arms, reliving the news of her sister's suicide for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the short months since it had come to pass. Agdar, Idunn, and her precious sister Anna had all disappeared. Her entire family, gone.

"But Elsa alive. Hans active. How?"

"The ship was destroyed. I sabotaged my data chip; the others were all ruined when the ship blew. Anna's…probably burned with her."

She sighed. "Damnit. I'm a traitor to my family, the only one I've known, and I'm on my own now because of it. Even if I could figure out a way to get home, I don't think everyone would herald the revelation of my survival. I…I fucking _killed_ them to get out."

Stitch laid a clawed hand atop hers, gazing at the top of her platinum head. She looked up at him.

"Past is past. Keep moving."

She nodded. "We keep moving, Stitch. It's all we can do."

* * *

 _ **I decided I needed to include the other halves of two key players on the other side of this fic. Plans exist to incorporate Kristoff and Sven, but then again they also exist to try and bring everything "mainstream Disney" into existence for contemplation. This fic will almost assuredly grow beyond sole focus on Frozen, but the characters introduced thusfar will be vital to the main storyline. I don't foresee them dying off...at least, not terribly soon.**_

 _ **Oh my, have I spoken out of turn?**_

 _ **Shapeshifting is a natural extension from Stitch's genetic makeup as an experimental specie, as it is from Elsa's cryokinesis: unlocking the ability to adjust thermal energy also allows for the ability to explore molecular and cellular manipulation by altering the genes located within the DNA of the cells. How? Simple: thermal energy is merely the transmission of energy between particles and the relative number of particle bombardments occurring over an interval of time. By controlling the number of particle bombardments, one has access to quantum mechanical manipulation, including time dilation, warp genesis, and shapeshifting.**_

 _ **Conclusion: Elsa having the ability to control thermal energy gives her unlimited front-row access to controlling the universe. Scary, isn't it?**_

 _ **-Canis**_


	8. Anna 03

_**Normally, I don't push eight chapter updates in one day. I typically spend my Thursday evenings writing while attending my friend's painting class. Tonight, however, as I've not posted any form of update in what feels like a month but may actually be longer, I've decided to submit what I possess and see if I can't get back at it next week.**_

* * *

 **Anna**

"So you have pyrokinesis and energy transfer. Blood no longer boils beyond melting point of tempered glass. Might be possibility to control all of temperature spectrum if try hard enough."

Anna nodded, flexing her hands. She could feel her blood pulsing with energy.

"Maybe in time we try again with tungsten melting. For now, we practice flame."

She sparked a small flame into her left hand and began coiling it into a sphere no larger than a golf ball.

"Now play catch with self. Need total control over small before can get bigger. Especially after last time."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I still think this is beneath me."

"Knowing control at small level, in simple step, makes for control of large level, at big step. If can learn to control small flame, can command entire star with proper training."

"I doubt I could ever go that far with this," she replied, tossing the fireball back and forth. "Melting tungsten, playing with a fireball, these are small tasks compared to controlling a star."

"Melting point of tungsten is thirty-four-hundred terran Kelvins. Average temperature of terran star Sol is fifty-five-hundred terran Kelvins. Is not large change in thermal energy if compared to average body temperature of three-hundred-sixty terran Kelvins, no?"

"A smaller difference gets exponentially more complicated to manipulate. Even you know that from your genetic experiments."

"But practice make easier. Practice bring exponent down from x-raise-six to x-raise-five in one week, to x-raise-four in month, and further. If can bring x-raise-six to x-raise-two, at best, then can manipulate cosmos."

She extinguished the fireball. "I don't understand. How can I manipulate the cosmos?"

"Juggle."

She created three of the burning spheres and began tossing them to and fro.

"Add one more fireball in two minutes.

"Ability to control cosmos is through manipulation. If can control thermal excitation, just like with fireballs, then can control everything with energy. Energy, as you know, is mere game of store and release. More energy release means more heat to control. If can learn to control small fireball, can control temperature of entire room. Can then control temperature of building, of weather, of planet, of entire galaxy at extreme level."

She nearly dropped the fourth fireball. "The entire galaxy?"

"Maybe is not possible for terran. Small body has limit to power manipulation. But, if can learn to harness energy from environment, can ensure never tire, never run out of power. Can avoid need for sleep and eat if can pull energy from environment."

"How do we train for that?"

"I once created training program for genetic experiments to test limits of exhaustion. Program relied upon subject's own capacity to control power and measure energy level. Program adapted to level of strength and control. Pushed subjects harder for best results. Killed handful of experiments."

"You expect me to try this program?"

"I can create simulation here without program if need."

She added a fifth fireball, scrambling the convoluted flames through the air. "How?"

Jumba settled backward, a cursory glare scanning Anna's figure. "Sure you want to try?"

She nodded once. "I can control fire and electricity to some extent. I need to know how to do more."

He grunted, rising from the reinforced chair near the workbench. "Create flame."

The fire joined into a single flame, bright yellow in color.

"Tighten flame. Make color blue."

She began squeezing. The fire condensed into a small bluish ball, hovering in the air before her face.

"Move ball over head."

She shifted the precarious flame over her scalp, resting close enough to her hair she felt the heat of a boiling summer's day.

"Now, attempt to lift table."

He gestured to an empty table at his right. "Do not let flame flicker during exercise."

She grasped the table. The ball stayed alight as she hefted it, grunting to hoist the furniture into her arms.

"Now, run laps around lab."

She turned to gape at the alien. He shrugged.

"You want to improve powers, we begin here. Keep ball lit in blue color, carry table, and run laps around lab."

She grit her teeth. Her legs surged as she began to jog, table aloft, fireball hovering obediently over her head.

"Faster!"

Jogging turned to running.

"Faster!"

Her run became a sprint.

"Faster!"

She pushed harder, feeling her arms straining from carrying the table. The heat from the fireball began to dull her brain. Her legs hurt. Her chest hurt. Her side hurt.

"Faster!"

Her foot touched nothing. Without forewarning, she met her own leg with the opposite foot and tumbled ass-over-teakettle into the collapsed table. The heat from her head dissipated. She groaned, panting.

"Fuck…I tripped…"

"That…was not trip, Anna."

She gazed at Jumba. His four eyes were wide, riveted to her sprawl.

"Bullshit. I tripped over my fucking foot."

"Was not trip. Was…interesting."

She hauled her ass off the table, dusting off the scuff on her knee.

"I need time to think, Anna. Today just got very interesting."

* * *

 _ **Ah, and that thing I mentioned at the end of the previous chapter? Yeah, well, welcome to my play-table. This story runs according to my rules, and the first rule is that, so long as violation of the laws of physics fails to occur, there shall be no rules to restrict my characters in what and how they do.**_

 _ **Anything science-related here...? Not insofar as I can tell, actually. At least, nothing that hasn't already been covered in a previous end-of-chapter rant. I previously held these at the starts of chapters, but I received enough in the way of negative feedback for such that I've migrated them down and out of the way as a 'read if you're interested, skip if you aren't' ploy.**_

 ** _RANT AHEAD...READ AT YOUR OWN RISK._**

 _ **Oh, um, something I should maybe cover in one of these before I get too much further into the story: I have zero qualms or reservations about writing anything. Period. One of my prior stories got me into some lukewarm water because of a "rape" scene, despite that scene never actually existing outside a pair of stray comments made by my characters. If anything remotely political upsets you, or if anything immoral lies outside your spectrum of 'things I can handle reading in a story,' then you are almost guaranteed to lack the stomach/mindset for this story. I would apologize, but I told myself I would never apologize for writing what and how I do. I shouldn't have to apologize for my story making readers uncomfortable unless the story itself is terrible writing.**_

 _ **Maybe I shouldn't be preaching at the closure of my chapter about such a thing. Consider this more of a forewarning to you, dear reader, that more of the dark and ugly monsters are lurking under the bed than just those I've touched upon here. For the sake of this story, I will ask that comments regarding my freedom to portray scenes as I wish (ie, snarky comments detailing how upset someone is about a possible dark moment in the story) be kept out of potential reviews and private messages; I will offer the same courtesy to those stories I read and review because my focus is on how good or bad of a story is presented to me rather than how much I agree or disagree with the moral, ethical, social, and political issues addressed within and the outcomes to such as penned by the author.**_

 _ **In short, I will focus on writing my story. If you elect to read and/or review for this or other stories, I ask that you show courtesy for the authors and their stories by arguing a point for, against, with, or to the text rather than for, against, with, or to the author. Attacking the author instead of the material is known as an 'ad hoc fallacy,' and it undermines the comment's validity by demonstrating a lack of genuine interest in interacting with the text. Comments proposing the text as good or bad, with evidence, are motivation for authors to get better at the art of writing; comments berating or belittling the author, however, are a short way to end a potentially long career producing marvelous works of fiction. Having it happen to me is frustrating, but fails as a deterrent for my choice of writing topics; watching it happen to others is heartbreaking and too often destroys the desires others have regarding getting better.**_

 _ **Because we're authors. We love our readers. We love them so much we persist in writing, and writing is really fucking hard to do. To have comments attacking the author for electing to write a certain scene within a story is damaging, disrespectful, discouraging, and disgusting.**_

 _ **RANT END...APOLOGIES FOR THE WALLS OF TEXT.**_

 _ **Felt I had to put that in there. Short version: dark times are ahead. If you do not wish to continue reading in fear of what is to come, bow out now to save yourself the trouble later. -Canis**_


	9. Kristoff 01

_**Time for something new.**_

* * *

 **Kristoff**

"There. Two hundred credit."

"What? We agreed on four hundred, you swindler."

The brute glared. "Four hundred credit for three thieves. You brought back two."

"So that should be two-sixty, minimum!"

"You take two hundred or nothing. Your choice."

"Relax, Kris. We'll take two hundred. If we bring the other thief back, do we get the other half?"

The brute nodded once. "I think that's a fair deal. More than fair, considering you broke contract."

"Look-"

"Kris, chill. Let's go. We'll find the guy and get the rest later."

The blonde terran grumbled, shouldering his pack and turning from the bondsman to follow his antlered cohort out of the bank, dodging past a crowd of fish-faced diplomats and a pair of jackal-headed hexapods standing guard near the exit. He glared at the antlered figure at the bottom of the bank's iron steps.

"What the hell, Sven? We can't just blow off proper payment when we brought back the bounty!"

"We only brought back part of it, Kris. Besides, you heard the guy: he'll give us the rest if we bring back the other fugitive."

"It's not a fair sum and you know that."

"Actually, we brought back the accomplices. Their boss is still loose, hence the discrepancy."

"But two hundred credits…"

"Quit your moaning, you big baby. You act like it's the end of the galaxy."

"I was told four hundred."

"And you'll get your four hundred," Sven growled, slotting a cigar into his large mouth, the fur on his body rippling. "Just chill out for a bit and we'll try and pick up the trail again. We know his signs, we know his signature, we know how he works."

"But we don't have our money."

"Hey, two hundred credit is a pretty good sum for us. Besides," Sven puffed, "I've got a feeling our bondsman friend back there will be contacting us again soon. He knows we're the best he's got, so he'll short-change us this go-around so we have to come back to him for the next offer."

Kristoff blinked, following his cohort to their ship. "You've thought all this through that far?"

"Of course I have. It's why we work together so well: I come up with the plan, and you help me make it happen."

The blonde glowered. "Fuck you too, asshole."

"Hey, relax. Just trust me. We'll go out, get some drinks, chill with the locals, maybe get some action tonight?"

Kristoff popped the door to the ship, a battered but affection-treated vessel with a handful of years and several handfuls of miles under its belt. "You sound so confident about this bondsman. How do you know he'll call?"

"Part of the fun with these," the antlered bipedal Kar'ibu gestured to his antlers, "is picking up on conversations nearby. Always makes things funny when I can overhear those pricks talking about how stupid we are for speaking English instead of their tongue or common, plus I can rub their faces in our winnings when I overhear their strategy. The other bit is overhearing things not so nearby, things over radio or closed communication."

The door slid closed, both bounty hunters clambering into the cockpit. Kristoff kicked his feet up on the dash, flicking the safety off and engaging several check valve switches to prep the craft for flight. "So?"

" _So_ I caught a whiff of an escapee from the Grand Councilwoman's personal prison, the high-security moon just off Ukata out by Alpha Centauri. Apparently he's a mad scientist or something similar; goes by the name Jookiba. I heard our reference number pop up and a sum; sounds like they want him back pretty bad."

"How bad?"

"Well, if my antennae are correct, bad enough to pay the hunter in charge a sum of five hundred thousand credit."

Kristoff spluttered, falling out of his chair. He fumbled for the safety catch, using the lever as a handhold to haul himself back upright. "Five hundred _thousand_ credit?!"

"Worth a shot, right?"

"That's more money than we've ever had! Sven, imagine what we could do with that!"

"There's more. While it's extremely likely we get the gig for Jookiba and his half-mil, there's also the possibility we get the Arendelle gig too."

"The Arendelle gig?"

"Former terran councilmember for the big lady. Remember that media blasphemy with the entire family mysteriously dying all at the same time?"

Kristoff remembered. It'd been all over intergalactic news channels for several months and remained the highest profile unsolved case to-date.

"Rumor on the coms channels said only the best of the best would be allowed to take the gig, and they're willing to offer up to three mil for that."

Kristoff balked. "Three and a half mil for two cases? We'd be set forever!"

"We've just gotta get the cases first. Just let me do the talking and we'll hash everything out, alright? They're gonna try to swindle us out of every credit they can, so we've gotta be smart."

Kristoff nodded. "I'll let you handle it. You're the one with the freaky signal shit."

"Damn right. Now, let's head out for that hot spot off in the Dunai belt; I hear business has been lively over there, _and_ that they've got a cute new server or two."

"On it."

* * *

 _ **This chapter is a bit awkweird in that I feature two main characters who, for the majority of the piece, will work together; the awkweird bit is that only one is listed in the title. I've decided to keep only the terrans for title choices, as they will be the easiest for me to track.**_

 _ **Nothing too science-y here, although I had to do a bit of research on bounty hunting as is done here in the States. Apparently rules and forms of practice vary by commission and trade, but from what I gathered, the bondsperson only pays out roughly ten percent of the bounty, which either means the 500k or the 3mil are either divided by ten, or ARE the ten percent of the whole.**_

 _ **If they are the ten percent, this means some ridiculous numbers, as one credit is equal to roughly one thousand USA dollars for the context of this story. $3 billion and $500 million are the going prices. But hey, in space, everything gets more expensive, and if you figure the top-tier elite Arendelle starships (the high-speed ultralights in the corvette class) run roughly one million credits a pop...numbers climb from there.**_

 _ **Apologies for the ramble. Sets up some interesting conversion factors for later down the line. We'll see how far this gets us. -Canis**_


	10. Hans 04

_**I particularly enjoy writing for Hans. Can you tell?**_

* * *

 **Hans**

Hans studied his reflection in the mirror, the passive gaze of Anna raking over his back. He tightened the lime-colored tie up to the neck of his pressed white suit, smoothing wrinkles from his elbows. She made a noise in the back of her throat; he passed her a spare look.

"Remind me what this meeting is for?"

"Apparently quite a number of terrans have invested in your Arendelle stocks and are feeling uneasy that the primary shareholders are otherwise incapable of managing the company."

"Meaning dead."

"Verily. What they seek from me is reassurance that they can continue to invest in Arendelle and rely upon its already-prominent success to only grow larger."

She sighed. "Sucks having to run something you inherited, doesn't it?"

"It has its perks. I get to fly whenever, wherever, in whatever vessel I desire, complete with full in-flight service."

She snorted. "Somehow I don't think that makes up for being the inherent CEO of the largest spacecraft company on this side of the local group."

"Actually," he returned, facing her properly as his processor ticked, "my calculations would conclude that, judging by the amassment of raw material for Briar Heavy Industries and the annual quota of demanded ships by the Grand Councilwoman's account alone, I'd say the company controls more than half of the local group."

"Briar has that much influence?"

"Briar Heavy Industries controls seventy-five percent of the resources in this galaxy alone and has spread out to entreaty an additional thirty percent from Andromeda. What's more, the company's partnerships with Porter and Housen company and Caroll Commercial Tech have put it on the map as the second-largest conglomerate in the Milky Way, save for Arendelle as its business-managing figurehead. The family may be gone, but the company will not be lost."

Anna looked stunned. Hans breezed past her, gliding down the gravity well into the hangar below. She trailed after, watching as he selected the second-fastest of the luxury fleet, a sleek model christened _Denali_ for the mountain ridge from earth's history books. He wished he could take _Yukon_ , but Anna had insisted that the agility and far superior speed of the smaller craft were assets she would never relinquish to another. He had considered decommissioning the craft on multiple occasions to learn its internal architecture and replicate a fleet for commercial distribution, but the redhead's fierce claim to the starship left it to sit, gathering dust in the far corner of the hangar just beyond _Everest_ , a lightweight high-powered tank craft with an ion cannon and a pair of hemispherical railguns.

He let the crew do as they needed to prepare the ship for launch, contenting himself to resume sifting through the mild disarray of files regarding terran customs and protocols as found on the servers. He slowly began the re-encryption process of converting binary to quanta, duplicating the information onto his own personal server installed a week prior in the basement at his behest. Anna had not initially been onboard with the idea, but gave in when he pointed out several security loopholes and null checksums in the code of the existing setup.

No more than an hour could have passed, but the pilot was nonetheless lowering the gleaming silver arrowhead onto a pad attached to the side of a skyscraper on a planet millions of miles away from the Arendelle manor.

He stepped onto the pristine tarmac, antigravity boots suctioning his feet to the pad as he scaled the vertical carbon-mesh platform toward the double doors. They dissolved at his approach, welcoming him into a well-lit room with a large table already polished to gleaming and seated with several expectant occupants.

"Lovely afternoon," he greeted. Only the blonde at the far end of the table, a stunning young lady with unnaturally-white teeth, received him with a smile and wave; the remainder of the figures offered him a glance at best or a glower at worst. He strode to the head of the table and offered the beaming blonde a hand to shake, which she accepted.

"Hans Westergaard, is it?"

"Well met, Aurora Thorne." He proceeded to kiss her knuckle, eliciting a light chuckle from her sculpted pink lips.

"Please, take a seat."

"Perhaps I should remain aloft for this meeting," he returned, slowly turning to face the crackling hearth behind her leather-backed chair. "The air seems tense enough as it is."

She giggled behind him. "As you wish. Now, as for why we've gathered here today-"

"Save it, Ro. We know why we're here."

"My family has placed many hopes upon the shoulders of the Arendelle name," a lilting voice quietly purred. "It would serve to dishonor us all should the name fail."

"Rest assured, Ms. Fa, that such a thing shall not happen," Hans returned. He tilted his head to catch a glimpse of her over his shoulder. "Not so long as I am in charge."

"How can we take your word?"

He turned fully. A young girl with red hair, tomato to Anna's apple, glared at him without shame. She held her head high and kept her cold blue eyes blazing. "Arendelle's family is dead, and now the company has fallen to some stranger to run? I call bluff."

"No bluff, Ms. Caroll. The Arendelle family had me set aside in the will penned by Agdar so that I might oversee the company and the family's assets in the event of an unforeseen tragedy."

"That sounds convenient, doesn't it? Some stranger with a pretty face and a horrible name suddenly pops up into existence after being listed in the family will, only to take over just because the family died of mysterious circumstances."

"The circumstances are hardly mysterious. As you well know, the Arendelle diplomats were mistakenly killed by their eldest daughter during an ambush, a double-homicide with a suicide to boot. Their distraught youngest, being a naïve teenager of questionable intelligence, then proceeded to launch a concentrated blast of reactive plasma at a volatile nitrile tree, inciting an explosive suicide for her as well. While I won't dispute the deaths as being unusual, they lack the air of mystery you seem to believe they possess."

She huffed. "Maybe you did it."

"What purpose would that serve?"

"Enough of this pissing contest!"

Hans looked further. Just beyond the shoulder of the agitated redhead sat an agitated blonde, pretty in a devilish sort of way, with a low-cut green blouse covering only the barest of skin on her torso.

"Something the matter, Ms. Bell?"

"You two keep fucking with each other, we'll never get done here! I have other things to do with my fucking time, damn it, and I won't waste my breath sitting here listening to this shit. We all came here for one fucking reason, Westergaard: should we still trust in Arendelle?"

He resisted the desire to smirk, his HUD indicating that Katarina Bell was short in stature and temper despite her fierce loyalty to a man who had tolerance for neither trait. "Very well, then we shall proceed. The simple answer is that Arendelle will be fine. The complicated answer is, as you might presume, complicated; while I have been included in the will and am the sole, rightful owner and executive of Arendelle, I do require time to learn the ins and outs of the company and its employees, not to mention its benefactors." At this he cast a meaningful gaze at the cluster of terrans around the table. "Regardless, we shall persevere; I am confident in my own abilities and knowledge of business, and as a result I have no doubt that Arendelle will continue to prosper and flourish. Rest assured, your stocks will not diminish in value for the foreseeable future, nor should you have to worry about any other investments or donations made in the past."

"You talk a lot, but don't offer much in the way of evidence," the redhead ground out.

"Need I remind you all of the Bailout of '52?"

Year 3052, every major corporation on their half of the Milky Way had invested stocks into a company known only as Mirage Entertainment. The company had turned out to be a smokescreen for a handful of clever Undras who had effectively forced back-door entry into the investors' banks, leaving the companies financially ruined. Every major corporation had invested, save for Arendelle, and when the scam finally revealed itself and all the money amassed by the Undras fled with them to parts unknown, it had been Arendelle left behind to shell out vast sums of money to cover the others' debts and poor financial decisions. The undying devotion Agdar had shown his fellow businesses strengthened Arendelle's position as a galactic figurehead for business, commerce, and trade, and as a result had left every single major company in debt to the super-corporation.

All heads at the table bowed in silent respect for the light reprimand they'd received. "I'm sure she meant no harm," Aurora mumbled.

"She would do well to respect her tongue a bit more than to push it into my ear," Hans chided. "In any case, that is before. Here, now, we have concern about the company's future as a reliable portion of this conglomerate, and I as its spokesperson and willed owner have said there is no need for concern. Problem satisfied?"

Nods around the table. "Now, with that settled, let us get down to some _real_ business, shall we? I believe every one of us has some issues to bring forth."

* * *

 _ **So, I think I have some science stuff to clear up.**_

 _ **-Local Group is a term used by astrophysicists to describe our location in the universe. Basically, our galaxy (the Milky Way) and Andromeda occupy a "small" local group of about ten million lightyears wide. Don't try and imagine something that large, just go with it. These Groups then come together to form Clusters, which form Superclusters, which form the Observable Universe. Our Local Group accounts for one billionth of the universe's size and matter, which means the universe is so impossibly large we can never hope to explore anything beyond our Group. Sad, sure, but at least now we have an idea for limitations.  
-Science fiction frequently deals with the idea of a railgun or an ion cannon, sometimes both. A railgun is an electromagnetic propulsion device used to throw ammunition at the foe. Basically, think of a bullet. Instead of using an explosion to throw it at 200mph (360 meters per second), put a big fucking magnet behind it and ramp that speed up to 2000+mph (3600+ meters per second). An ion cannon, then, is simply a cannon which bombards foes with ions at high concentration and speed. The idea is that ions are technically polarized atoms/molecules and thus are unstable; by firing these unstable particles at stable particles, the stable ones degenerate and disassemble. So, the Everest in this context would either be able to completely dissociate a ship, or it would throw a projectile the size of a train at the foe. Take your pick.  
-Encryption on data of any form is a slow, tedious process; converting that data from binary to quanta by today's technology standards would take millenia. As of the year for this story, more than 1000 years in the future, I'm almost certain we'll have quantum computing and, if calculation stands, that such conversion could be done as quickly as copying files from a computer to a flash drive.  
-Antigravity (or artificial gravity) does not exist at current time. The problem with gravitational attraction is that it's relatively weak at small scales, thus making it difficult to replicate for the purposes of, say, becoming Spiderman. The closest we've come as humans is some form of magnetic repulsion using a superconductor cooled in liquid nitrogen to almost -200C in temperature suspended in a magnetic field. Effective but impractical. Given that gravity is currently only viable in examples of large bodies (planets) within a massive space (solar system), my suspicion is that antigravity or any artificial derivative thereof will require some form of repulsion/attraction between materials the likes of which we currently do not possess. Electromagnetic projection seems to be the closest we've come, but the heat produced by such is extreme by current measures.**_

 _ **Again, I love science. This is the nitty-gritty behind it. All the bureaucratic talk should be relatively easy to follow, but don't expect me to give everything away at once. The chapter's yours, kids.**_

 _ **-Canis**_


End file.
